


A Little Outdoor Music

by sheafrotherdon



Series: A Farm in Iowa 'Verse [4]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-25
Updated: 2008-07-25
Packaged: 2017-10-11 21:59:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I wanna," John murmured, every word a burst of hot, humid breath against the shell of Rodney's ear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Outdoor Music

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amberlynne](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Amberlynne).



> For Amberlynne, who wanted first time outdoor sex.

"I wanna," John murmured, every word a burst of hot, humid breath against the shell of Rodney's ear.

Rodney swallowed, trying with all his might to hold onto his higher brain functions, despite the fact that the world was shrinking to a mess of sensation – the barn against his back, rough and unyielding; John against his front, firm and warm, smelling of sun and sweat and trampled prairie grass; his own body thrumming with a need that it was apparently impossible to quench. "We are _outside_ ," he hissed, the venom he'd been aiming for breaking into a low moan when John licked a long line up his neck.

"Yeah," John agreed, and pressed his knee between Rodney's, rocked forward to rub himself against Rodney's thigh. His hands came up to frame Rodney's face, thumbs resting just below Rodney's jaw. "I know."

"Mmmmph," Rodney managed in the 0.67 seconds before John kissed him – a slow, wet, filthy kiss that spoke volumes about the kind of sex John was after. "Jesus," he whimpered as John nipped at his throat. "The _neighbors_."

John laughed, low and dirty, making Rodney's dick twitch inside his jeans. "No one's gonna see," he promised, hand slipping down Rodney's body, a thumb rubbing over one of Rodney's nipples through his t-shirt. "Just us."

Rodney grabbed for John's ass, pulled him in a fraction closer, thrust against him, frustrated and turned on and worried he'd be giving Ada Gunderson an eyeful if he peeled John out of his clothes the way he wanted. "It can't possibly be sanitary," he protested, panting as John pushed his t-shirt up and over his head. "Bugs and bacteria and . . . oh _god_ . . ." John had bent his head, was sucking at a nipple, and Rodney's jeans had never felt so fucking _tight_. "If you break my cock I will . . ."

John looked up at him mischievously, clever fingers working at Rodney's fly. "You'll . . . "

"Just _don't_ ," Rodney said, "how about that? How about you don't break my cock, but instead you – " And then he shut up completely when the afternoon breeze hit his dick and he realized he was about to get blown at not even 2pm, sunlight on his face, John on his knees, wetting his lips. "Nngggh?"

John took his time, the bastard – kept everything slow and slick and measured until Rodney regained speech again and cursed him back to the dirt of Eden. Only then did he suck with a little more purpose, cheeks hollowing, eyelashes fluttering as he hummed happily at the back of his throat, and Rodney stopped listening for mosquitoes, rocking his hips toward John's waiting mouth, closed his eyes and let his fingers card through John's thick, unruly hair, climbing, bit by bit, toward some noisy, wet, stupifying end.

When he came, his knees buckled, and it was only John's arm across his hips that kept him in place; only the heel of his own hand, stuffed into his mouth, that kept him from telegraphing his pleasure to every farmer in the county. " _John_ ," he mumbled brokenly when John pulled back with a satisfied grin, wiping come from the corner of his mouth. "Oh my god, if I have an allergic reaction to . . ." And he pushed John back into the grass, straddled him and kissed him into some trembling pliance, slid his hands into John's striped shorts and jerked him off to a murmured litany of utterly filthy thoughts. And when John jerked beneath him, shuddering up into Rodney's hand, spurting gracelessly between Rodney's fingers, Rodney groaned again, gentled him through it, collapsed on top of his boyfriend's sweaty, tanned body with his ass half-hanging out of his jeans and sunburn prickling across his shoulders.

"I'd like a rematch," he mumbled into John's shoulder, kissing the edge of his collarbone.

"A . . . huh?" John said intelligently.

"Blow _you_ next time," Rodney offered contentedly, and waved an inquisitive grass stem away from his face.


End file.
